


Perfect Union

by bleedinqhearts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5 + 1 Things, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Lemon, Mutual Pining, Public Sex, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, i am so in love w atsumu holy shit, just a smidge of some sex ok, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedinqhearts/pseuds/bleedinqhearts
Summary: Five times Atsumu Miya talks about getting married, plus the one time he actually proposes to you.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 36
Kudos: 479





	Perfect Union

Atsumu Miya has got better things to do than play such a _girly_ game with you, but you promised to set for him and Osamu if he did, so that’s why he’s standing in his backyard, underneath a huge oak tree that, while providing plenty of shade, does little else when it comes to shielding him from the sweltering heat of Japan’s harsh summers. His nine year old brain can’t really wrap around why you chose him to act as the husband in this little game of house, because already, Osamu is proving himself to be the more mature twin of the dynamic duo, and really, anybody with functioning brain cells can see that he would be the better option. However, you seemed pretty set in your decision, and your stubborn streak is annoying at best and infuriating at worst. 

Atsumu is grateful that the only person bearing witness to this ridiculous scene is Osamu (who will never let him live this down for the rest of his life), and the sooner this is over, the better. 

Your chubby cheeks are flushed pink, and you look a bit like a cherub in some French renaissance painting, and you’re wearing your mother’s pearls. 

Per your request, Atsumu gets down on one knee. Osamu is holding in his snickers. You’re practically glowing with joy, and he figures that this dopey, ridiculous smile you have on your face makes the situation a little bit more bearable. 

He reveals what he’s been holding behind his back this whole entire time: a bright red Ring Pop that’s even stickier than usual because of the heat it’s been exposed to, but it still shines in the bright afternoon sun. (He doesn’t tell you that the shine might also be because he got tired of waiting for you to get dressed, so he decided to lick at it a few times, using the reasoning that “well, it was _there_ ” to justify his actions.) 

“Will you marry me?” He asks, trying to sound about as adult as can be, and now Osamu can’t hold in his laughs any longer, but you’re grinning ear to ear as you nod energetically. 

“Yes!” You squeal with excitement, and you wear the Ring Pop with pride, not even daring to take a single lick at it in order to lengthen its life. Your mother is disgusted at the old piece of candy/jewelry, and promptly chucks it in the trash the moment you take it off to get in the bath.

(You cried for hours on end and with the poor insulation paired with the fact that you two are next door neighbors and also paired with the fact that your sobs could be heard around the whole entire damn Hyogo prefecture, news travels to Atsumu that you are in dire need of another Ring Pop, which he is happy to provide.)

━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━ 

“I ain’t doing this stupid play,” Atsumu grumbles to you. You’re both thirteen now. Thankfully, the close friendship and bond the two of you have formed is strong enough to withstand the test of time thus far. Being thirteen is the gateway to heightened hormones and figuring out why the school chose _now_ to give you guys a slideshow about STDs, and unlike some other boy-girl friendships in your class, yours and Atsumu’s is still very much intact. Osamu is walking slightly ahead with another teammate. You’ve been noticing lately that Osamu hardly joins in on your walks home, but you never really cared much to ask. If he’s mad at you, he would have told you. If he’s mad at Atsumu, they would have made up within thirty minutes. 

“Well, you have to.” You remind him. “Because it’s for a grade.” 

“I’ll fail.” He’s so deadpan with it that you believe him.

“You already are.” You point out, and he scowls, bumping his shoulder against yours, only it doesn’t work because his growth spurt and years of jumping and stretching for volleyball have boosted his height immensely, and he towers over you far more than you would like. He kind of pushes the side of his body against yours, and you stumble on the sidewalk a bit, but his arm wraps around your side to ensure that you don’t fall.

He doesn’t apologize because he doesn’t really do apologies in the first place, and his arm lingers around you for a moment longer than it really should, and you have to tell yourself that this is just a stupid, friendly (if not _brotherly_ ) touch. 

You’re so focused on trying not to blush at a casual gesture that you completely miss the knowing smirk and raised eyebrow Osamu gives Atsumu, who, in turn, discreetly flips him off.

Later, when you’re sitting on the floor in Atsumu’s room, you mention the play that he’ll be reading out loud in the class. It’s not an actual performance, but it’s something his English teacher does to make sure everyone in the class participates, and Atsumu’s been unfortunate enough to land the role of the main character, some lovestruck soldier whose struggles consist of not dying and trying to find the perfect time to propose to his longterm girlfriend. 

So far, he’s been reading his lines pretty well. A bit more aggressive than the playwright intended, you’re sure, but he’s trying at least, and this puts a smile on your face. You’re staring down at the copy of the play in your textbook, and you don’t notice Atsumu staring at your serene expression until you look up, wondering why he’s not reading his next line. 

He makes a dramatic show of clearing his throat before looking down at the next words. You already know it’s coming up, so there’s no point in him trying to change the lines. Somehow, these words feel a little bit heavier than his other lines, and he doesn’t know why he’s being such a little bitch about saying four simple words, but when they roll off his tongue (more like tumble and trip over themselves and run into fucking trees on their way down), he feels like he shouldn’t be saying this to you. (At least, _not yet_.)

“Will you marry me?” 

You don’t seem as affected by this line as he is, and he feels like the world’s biggest idiot for getting so worked up over this, but he closes his copy of the play, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Hey, we’re only halfway done. If you practice your lines now, you won’t stutter over any of them in class.” You reason with him, completely unaware that Atsumu Miya has just realized that he wants to be more than just best friends with you. 

It’s one of those life changing, world stopping, earth stops spinning, time freezing revelations that very few experience in their whole entire lifetime, and that he’s been unfortunate enough to come to. He thinks that maybe this is just some late, unpleasant side effect of growing up, and maybe he’s right, and this is what scares him. Because if he’s right, if realizing that you are the only girl he ever really cares about, then that means your friendship is fucking doomed! All the other boy-girl friendships have broken up, and he thinks he knows why now, too. You can’t possibly be in love with your best friend, and just go on being their friend like nothing’s wrong. It’s impossible. It’s unfathomable. It’s--

“’Tsumu, are you okay?” Your [E/C] eyes widen in concern as you look up at him from your seat on the floor. 

\--exactly what’s happening to him right now. 

He snaps out of it, intending to make this friendship work if it’s the last thing he ever does. He will keep his feelings bottled up, something that will prove to be quite difficult in the near future, and he will certainly never, ever act on his feelings for you out of fear of ruining the easy friendship the two of you have solidified all these years ago. 

━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━ 

He knows that it’s going to happen eventually; that one day, everyone will wake up and come to their senses (some have done it before him already), and realize what a catch you are. He just never anticipated you actually accepting one of their offers. 

“Where’re you headin’?” He’s coming back from an early ended practice, sweat still visible on his forehead, dampening the strands of hairs that are sticking to it. He’s panting a little bit, still out of breath from straining himself during practice and then proceeding to race Osamu home, and here you are, as fresh as can be. 

You’ve changed out of your school uniform, opting instead for a pretty baby blue skirt and white top, and sure, he’s pretty damn certain that you’re quite possibly the most beautiful person walking this earth, but holy shit: right now, you have officially transitioned into some pretty girl to some sort of otherworldly, gorgeous goddess, and all it took was a mini skirt for him to see it. 

“Oh, hey. Practice end early?” You completely avoid his question altogether, and you’ve never been the type to deflect before, and now you’ve definitely piqued his curiosity. 

“What’re ya all dressed up for?” 

“Oh, this?” And you’re blushing, an adorable shade of pink painting the apples of your cheeks, and you have this bashful smile on your face, and god, you look _fantastic_ , but then the realization dawns on him that he’s not the reason for the expression on your face, but before his soft smile from looking at you can disappear, you’re speaking again, smoothing down the front of your skirt. “Does it look good?”

“[Y/N], I’ll marry you if you promise to wear that while walking down the aisle.” You laugh at this, throwing your head back a little bit and the sound is like music to his ears. He relishes in this tiny victory; whoever you’re dressing up for can’t make you laugh like he does, right? 

“It’s my first date.” You tell him, when you calm down enough from your giggling fit. “And I’m a nervous wreck.” You look up at him, your best friend in the whole entire world, someone who knows every little thing about and vice versa, and you think you have him figured out to a T. You think he’s going to laugh in your face, maybe give you a backhand compliment, some shoddy advice that you definitely shouldn’t follow, and then will proceed to tease you for the rest of your life. 

What you don’t expect is for him to give you a small smile, one that looks a little sad almost, and he sits down on the steps of your porch, patting the empty space next to him, which you take. “Are you gonna make fun of me? Because I have a train to catch, so you’ll have to settle for--”

“Who’s the lucky guy?” He messes with the zipper on his jacket, and you think he’s just trying to get more material to come up with jokes. You tell him anyway, because it’s not like it’s some sort of secret.

“His name’s Tooru Oikawa. He’s a setter, like you.” 

“Oh.” He says. He doesn’t know what else to say. 

“I-I should probably go. I don’t want to be late.” You get up, smooth over your skirt once again, and give him a tentative smile. “I’ll tell you all about it once I get home, okay?” 

And you do. You tell him everything: how Oikawa’s so great, so charming, so sweet. How he’s funny (almost as funny as _him_ ), how he’s a hard worker, how you could see yourself going on another date with him. And the more you talk about him, the stronger his urge to bash his head with a volleyball gets. 

The dates continue, and nowadays, it feels like the only thing you’re capable of speaking about is Tooru this and Tooru that, and all he can do is just nod and smile as you go on and on about how you think you’re falling in love with him, and debates whether or not he should tell you right now that he’s _always_ been in love with you. 

But he doesn’t. His silence morphs into pent up anger and jealousy that he takes out on the volleyball, and everyone steers clear of him during practice. Everyone, except for Osamu, who finally drags him aside one day after practice.

“What the hell’s been going on with you?” Osamu asks, like he isn’t already aware of the fact that his twin brother is hopelessly in love with his childhood best friend who is unknowingly adding salt to his wound by constantly rubbing in her new relationship with a boy he can never be. 

“Fuck! I’m so fucking fucked.” Atsumu’s caught between a scream and groan. He sounds infuriated but also like he’s in pain. 

“Tell her.” Osamu urges him. “Before it’s too late.” 

Which sounds slightly ominous, and later that night, when Atsumu lies in his bed, he closes his eyes. But rather than darkness, all he sees is an image of you dressed in all white, walking down the aisle to greet a man in a tuxedo who is certainly not him. He sees you inviting him over to your house in the future, one that is so far away from your childhood home, and you’re carrying a baby, one with chocolate brown eyes and a tuft of matching brown curls, and it looks nothing like you but much like _Oikawa_ , and Atsumu has never liked losing, but he’s never realized just how much he fucking _despises_ it until he feels like he’s losing something even more important than a volleyball match; he’s losing _you_ , and he doesn’t know how to get you back. 

━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━ 

“I am so fucking fucked.” You sob into his shoulder as he squeezes you tight, and he ignores the way your tears are seeping through the cotton material of the shirt he’s wearing. You’re in college now; you’re both eighteen, and you’ve been in this toxic on-again-off-again relationship of sorts with Tooru Oikawa for the past two years. Judging by the way you’re clinging to him, the empty pints of ice cream in your trash can, and the fact that you skipped class and waited in your lonely dorm room for him to come visit you, apparently the two of you are _off_ right now. He hopes, even though the pattern proves it’s futile, that this is the last time you let Oikawa break your heart, but even he knows that that’s not likely. 

Your words stir memories in his mind that he likes to keep buried. He’s been doing a good job, thus far, of pretending like he’s not absolutely fucking in love with you. He talks to girls at parties (let’s not mention that he always compares them to you, and you win every single time). He drinks on weekends, and practices his heart out on the weekdays. Osamu goes to a neighboring university, one that specializes in culinary arts. It’s the first time they’ve ever really been separated, but Osamu’s always been good at doing his own thing, and you’re here with him, so he manages just fine. 

“What did he do this time?”

“I caught him. Kissing another girl. It’s all over Snapchat.” You press your face against his chest even harder, like you’re trying to force yourself to just disappear right on the spot. Atsumu would prefer to hold you in his arms under better circumstances, but when the person you’re in love with has their heart set on someone else, you tend to take what you can get from them in return. Atsumu wants to speak his mind. He wants to tell you that Oikawa’s been an asshole from the get-go, and that he shouldn’t be playing with your feelings because you deserve so much more than what he’s putting you through. He wants to tell you that Oikawa’s not the only person in the world who can make you feel wanted. In fact, Atsumu’s right here, and he can make you feel _loved_ , which is all you should ever feel. But now’s not the right time because he knows, he’s seen you around Oikawa, and you give him that same lovestruck stare that Osamu says _he_ gives _you_ , and he knows that when you admit you’re fucked, you’re not lying. 

“I got an idea. Why don’t ya marry me, and then you never have to worry about that jackass Oikawa ever again, yeah?” 

Your cries cease, and he feels the gentle shake of your shoulders as you laugh softly.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, ‘Tsumu?” You ask him, moving your face a little so that you can look up at him. Your eyes are still glossy and your lashes have droplets of water on them. 

“I don’t have time for one.” It’s always been his go-to excuse. He’s a serious athlete, and everyone else buys into it pretty easily. Besides, this is college, and being tied down isn’t something people would expect of him. 

“Oh. Okay.” You say, and he thinks the sadness behind your words is because you’re still upset about Oikawa. 

━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━ 

It’s graduation day. Even though everyone’s wearing the same colored cap and gowns, Atsumu can spot you with ease no matter how large and chaotic the crowd happens to be. You’re standing with your parents, smiling as the flash goes off on the various cellphone cameras pointed at you, and he admires the scene from afar. His own parents have already come to give their congratulations, and they're on their way to spend the afternoon with Osamu before getting the whole entire family to eat out together. 

You glance over in his direction, and suddenly, your whole entire face lights up. You give some rushed explanation and few complimentary sorry’s that you certainly don’t mean, and you rush to him, eyes shining brightly and a smile so wide that he’s surprised your cheeks aren’t screaming in protest.

You throw your arms around him, wrapping him up in the sweetest embrace he’s ever experienced in his whole entire life, and he reciprocates your touch, and maybe it’s him reading into things, but he thinks this hug feels a bit more intense and passionate than the average one you usually give your best friend. 

You’ve been happier these past few months. A certain sort of glow that only emerges whenever you finally remove yourself from a toxic relationship. He was ecstatic when you first told him the news, not just because this meant you were single, but because it meant that you were finally growing up, that you had finally gained a newfound independence. 

He wanted to tell you -- still does, actually -- about his true feelings for you. That he doesn’t see you as a sister, but views you with a type of romantic love that’s reserved for a significant other. He wants to tell you that he thinks you’re the most beautiful person his eyes have ever had the pleasure and blessing to be able to see. He wants to tell you that he’s been wanting to tell you all these things since fucking junior high. But he doesn’t. Atsumu Miya, who never shies away from any sort of challenge whatsoever, is _scared_. Scared that the moment he lets it slip, this happiness you’re exuding will evaporate. Scared that you will not truly return his feelings but will either force yourself to deal with being in a relationship with him out of obligation or will break off your friendship with him because it’ll be too awkward to even look him in the eyes anymore. Scared that you’ll know that you’re much too good for someone like him, someone who’s not even brave enough to admit feelings that shouldn’t be kept bottled up.

You have a right to know. You have a right to know why he’s so intent on walking you back to your dorms when it gets late at night. You have a right to know why he doesn’t drink when you’re at the same party as him, and why he’s fine with abstaining from alcohol if it means one of you has a clear head to take care of the other. You have a right to know why he stayed up late studying stupid biology PowerPoints, because it’s not really his grades that he cares about, but it’s the disappointed look you get when he fails that he hates to see. You have a right to know why he looks up at the stands any chance he gets during his game, to see you silently cheering him on with an encouraging smile and this look in your eyes that he can pretend is love for him. 

“Can I talk to you?” He asks, and he sounds so oddly sincere and serious that your happy grin is fading, but you nod, and the two of you find an empty bathroom down the hall in the massive room the graduation ceremony was held. It’s one of those public bathrooms that are large enough to be like a restroom at home; just one room with one toilet and a sink and a mirror, and it’s spacious enough to where you and Atsumu fit in it together with ease and room to spare. He locks the door, the click sounding louder in the silence, and for a rare moment, he looks _nervous_.

“What’s the matter?” You ask him, and you’re speaking to him so softly, so tenderly, that his heart is practically bursting out his chest, and he can’t take it any longer. _Fuck_ , maybe you’ll resent him for ruining your easy friendship with his complicated feelings, but it’s been too long and--

“I’m in love with you!” He blurts it out, too fast and too loud for him to take it back, not like he’s going to anyway. You look a little stunned, your [E/C] eyes wide with surprise, pretty mouth agape. As you process his words, you visibly relax. You have a soft smile on your face, eyes still looking a little surprised, but then you catch him off guard.

“I’m in love with you, too.” 

This is the greatest day of his fucking life. This tops every birthday, every passed test, every winning match; nothing has prepared him for the greatest victory of his life thus far. 

Suddenly, the space between the two of you seems to disappear completely as he leans his head down to capture your lips in a kiss. He’s surprisingly gentle for the first second, but then all those pent up feelings he’s kept buried inside since junior high take control of him, and he’s kissing you with a fervor that catches you off guard, and when he finally stops to come back up for air, he has this gigantic smile on his face that makes you smile back at him.

“I’ve been waiting forever to do that.” He admits to you, sounding a little breathless. 

“Yeah?” You sound a little breathless yourself, and he thinks about what he can do to keep having you sound like that. It’s a thought he tries to chase away because admitting his longtime feelings for you and then proceeding to fuck you in a public bathroom directly after you just received your degrees is a little extreme even for him, but then you stand on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around him and pull him down for another searing kiss that leaves the two of you breathless once more. 

“’ _Tsumu_ \--” you say, after your lips disconnect for the second time today. You want to tell him that maybe you shouldn’t be doing this right now, but _fuck it_. It’s graduation. You both deserve a nice reward for all the shit you’ve been going through; finals, annoying classmates, Oikawa being an asshole, Atsumu not acting on his feelings faster... When you look up at him, he can see it in your eyes that you want him as much as he wants you, and suddenly, all thoughts about doing what’s reasonable and following a traditional courtship are thrown out the window. This is it. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for ever since you realized that Oikawa was nothing more but a poor replacement for the boy who you thought only saw you as a sister. You’re going to do this, and you’re going to love absolutely every second of it. You stare at him, eyes filled with equal parts lust and love, delight and devotion, and you whisper to him the words that fuel his late night fantasies. “-- _I need you. I want you. Please_.” 

Atsumu Miya is a little jerk, and while he wants nothing more than to just tease you, he’s also been looking forward to this moment, something that he never thought was going to happen, and he wastes no time in stripping you of your cap and gown, revealing the skirt and blouse you have on underneath. It’s a miniskirt, similar to one in his high school memories, but rather than baby blue, it’s a midnight blue; darker, more mature. It suits you even better, he muses, as his fingers reach for the waistband and drags your pretty little skirt down until it hits the floor, and you step out of them.

You want this as badly as he does, and it’s evident in the ways you tear at his own gown, throwing it down to the tiled floor, and even in the heat of passion, you let out a small laugh that no classical symphony can ever compare to. This is music in its purest form, gentle and beautiful. 

“You wore a fucking t-shirt to graduation?” You ask him. He gives you a shit-eating grin before taking it off, tossing it on top of his discarded gown. 

“Well, sorry, I didn’t know I would be dicking down the love of my life.”

“Oh?” You ask, as he reaches for your blouse, unbuttoning it with a slightly focused and determined look on his face that just makes this all the more endearing, even though you’re certain that you’re going to be mortified about the location of where you two are having sex for the first time is later. 

“Yeah.” He smiles as you shrug off the unbuttoned blouse, but it’s replaced with a devilish smirk as he tells you, “If I had known, I would’ve gone shirtless.” 

Your laugh turns into a moan as he sucks down on the sensitive area of your neck, sucking and biting gently. He’s going to leave a mark. He’s going to show everyone that you’re his, and from the way your nails are lightly grazing his muscled back, he thinks you’re going to leave plenty of marks of ownership of your own. 

His lips travel downwards to your collarbone and eventually to your cleavage, and he gently lays you down on the ground, on top of the piles of hastily discarded clothes, and all you can do is look up at him as he admires you. You unclip your bra, completely ready and willing to bare as much of yourself to him. He sucks in, watching the sway of your breasts as they’re freed from their silk confines, and he curses himself for every chance he refused to take and not confessing to you sooner. He could have spent _months_ , maybe even _years_ , loving you and admiring you, and he thinks he’ll have to make up for lost time.

“We don’t have to--” He starts to say, but you shut him up when you hook a finger to the waistband of your panties, which are dampening from your arousal by the seconds. He’s rendered speechless when you pull them off, having to awkwardly maneuver your body and legs a bit in order to do so, and you would feel self conscious about how utterly unsexy you’re being right now, but Atsumu’s staring at you like you’re still some sort of goddess he should be sacrificing his firstborn to, and it’s with this silent encouragement that you feel absolutely _certain_ that this is what you want, that this is what you always wanted for a long time. 

“I want this.” You whisper to him, your soft hand finding his calloused one, holding it, squeezing it gently as an act of reassurance. “I want _you_.” 

He scrambles to take off his pants and boxers in one go, and you watch in anticipation as Atsumu Miya is suddenly as naked as you are, and holy shit, this is definitely happening. Right now, you are about to have sex with your Atsumu, your ‘Tsumu, and who the hell gave him the right to be so _huge_? Placing his one hand of his, which is already bigger than the average hand size, around his dick only makes his _hand_ appear smaller. You swallow hard. 

He notices, and the panic and uncertainty in his eyes, dark eyes that are usually so confident and bold, makes you immediately feel bad. It’s your first time being together, and the location and time are already making this a hell of a story, but you don’t want him to feel like he’s forcing you or making this experience unenjoyable. 

“Are you su--”

“You’re just... Bigger than I’m used to.” You admit meekly, turning a shade of scarlet that rivals your lipstick. His ego is sated the moment your confession comes out, and that trademark Atsumu smirk paired with his usual arrogance and confidence returns. 

“I’ll just have to get you ready then.” A large finger finds its way to your entrance which is already slick enough as it is, but he figures that if he’s going to fuck you for the first time, there better be no doubt in his mind that you’re experiencing nothing but pure pleasure the moment he enters you. He strokes your slit experimentally, getting his finger wet with your arousal, before he enters you, and you let out a small gasp that he loves, but nearly as much as he would love to hear you moaning his name. (He’s not too worried, though, because you two have plenty of time for him to get you to that point.)

One finger isn’t nearly enough to get you where he needs you to be, so he adds in a second one, curling them the moment he’s in knuckles deep, watching your closed eyes and the way your mouth forms that ‘o’ shape as you arch your back to get him in even deeper. 

He moves his fingers with a dexterity that could only indicate that he’s had prior practice before, but all thoughts of the previous girls he’s done this with are chased away and replaced with just not fucking caring at all. It doesn’t matter that he’s been with other people before you, because that was before you, and besides, you were in a whole ass relationship before this, so it’s only fair. The other reason why you can’t think so hard about the other girls is because practice really _does_ make perfect, and it’s evident that with just a few more strokes of his fingers, Atsumu will have you cumming all over his digits in no time. 

His fingers are long and lithe, moving at a furiously fast pace, and they’re hitting a spot in you that you hadn’t realized you had, and this sends you over the edge, brings you to your first orgasm of the day. 

“ _Fuck_!” You hadn’t realized that you could cum so hard, especially when all he did was fuck you with two fingers, but you suppose that Atsumu’s talents are something to praise to the gods. He removes his fingers which are now drenched with your juices, and then he does something that leaves you slightly embarrassed and maybe even more aroused: he fucking licks his fingers. 

“You taste so fucking good.” He groans, and you’re absolutely blushing right now because no one -- especially not Atsumu Miya -- should be given the right to just taste you on his fingers and look _hot_ while doing so. It’s _so_ unfair. 

And even though you’ve already orgasmed once, it’s not his fingers that you’ve been waiting for. You speak up, something the two of you should have done a long time ago, and finally tell him what you want. “Atsumu Miya, if you do not fuck me right now, I will literally cry.” You threaten, and only you and Atsumu would say shit like this during sex. It adds an endearing aspect to the whole ordeal, and it’s just a testament to the fact that before the two of you were lovers, you were best friends first and foremost. 

_Lovers_. That word plays in both of your minds as he inches himself into your dripping entrance.

 _Lovers_. He’s being so gentle, so focused and determined to not push you to your limits that he’s actually testing your patience with how slow his pace is. 

_Lovers_. It’s suddenly his favorite word in the world as he finally fits the entirety of his length inside you. 

He gives an experimental thrust, and you moan out, legs wrapped around his waist, eyes half-lidded and your throat exposed, practically _begging_ to be marked. He pulls his length back before shoving it back into you, and you moan again. You think that maybe you’re being too loud, but even if on the court he hates noise, a nuclear war could be going on and it wouldn’t be enough to break his concentration on you. The way your breasts move as he starts bucking into you at a more steady pace. The way your moans seem to get breathier and wanton. The way you’re clamping down on him like a vice, making him feel like you never want him to leave. 

The pace isn’t as fast and rough as it will be during some moments in the future, and after dealing with the fact that he’s been hopelessly in love with you since fucking junior high, he’s learned to have some patience, to show some restraint. He doesn’t care if he sounds like the cheesiest bastard alive; he’s not going to fuck you relentlessly, he’s going to _make love_ to you. 

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwined, and it’s oddly romantic -- as romantic as can be in this public restroom, that is. Each thrust of his hips against yours is full of love. Each hickey he leaves on your neck and collarbone is every unspoken “I love you” he’s been aching to say all along. 

His thrusts never get sloppy, even as he nears his own climax. He doesn’t want to cum inside you, but you only wrap your legs around him tighter. 

“Y-you can.” You moan out, arching your back and moving your hips to meet him halfway. You’re on the pill, something that Oikawa -- whose name you can barely remember right now -- had absolutely delighted in, but the fact that Atsumu finds that he’s able to cum right inside of you as the hottest thing in the world makes _you_ happy. You like making him happy. You like making him feel good.

And he does the same for you. His free hand, the one that’s not holding yours, reaches for your clit. His thumb is rubbing circles on it, and your moans are practically sobs as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all. This is Atsumu who is fucking you so well, your Atsumu who wants you as much as you want him, and it’s Atsumu who’s going to bring you to your climax. 

“ _ATSUMU_!” You cry out, and all you know is that _this_ is an orgasm, that this is what people chase after when having sex. Your legs lose their grip around his waist, but it’s fine because he’s finishing after you, groaning and nestling his head in between the space your neck and shoulder provides. 

You’re not sure how long he stays in you after, but eventually, he gets up and slowly pulls out his dick. You both look a mess; he’s panting and a little sweaty, even, and your cheeks are flushed, your neck and collarbone are covered in hickeys, and you don’t even want to look down at the scene between your legs. But it doesn’t matter because he presses a soft, loving kiss on your lips before getting up to get some paper towels from the bathroom, trying to help you clean up and being very gentle with it because he knows the paper towels aren’t the softest. (This act makes you fall for him even more, if that’s possible.)

“Atsumu.” You whisper softly, taking a hand to run your fingers through his blond hair. 

“Yeah?”

“We’re pretty stupid for not doing this sooner, huh?”

“Yeah.” He smiles at you, and it’s funny how such a simple thing can make your heart skip a beat. “Let’s get married so we can do this every day.” 

You laugh, and he feels like everything’s right in the world.

━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━ 

“I don’t remember the tree being this tiny.” You say. You’re back home, at your childhood home. Your parents have retired and wanted to spend the rest of their days traveling the world, and in turn, giving you the house you’ve spent your whole entire childhood growing up in. 

“Well, you always were a midget.” Atsumu replies back, grinning at you as you slap him on his arm. He’s gotten even toner, if that’s possible, ever since he went pro. When you look up at him, it’s obvious that he’s all grown up now. A sharper jawline, hollower cheeks; he’s even stopped bleaching his hair, the natural color making its reappearance. The only thing that hasn’t changed over the years is the look in his dark eyes as he stares at you. Eyes that are filled with so much love, pride, and adoration, you sometimes wonder if you’re even worthy of such intense affection. 

“Hey, look, is that a fucking hawk?” He points up at the sky, and you’re kind of confused, but you turn around to look at the direction he’s pointing at, only for you to be met with absolutely nothing. You’re getting ready to ask him why he would pull such a childish prank (he’d probably ask you why you believed him in the first place), but instead of looking up, you’re looking down, and--

\--and _holy shit, Atsumu Miya is down on one fucking knee_. There’s a black velvet box in his hand, and he’s giving you that same look that lets you know he means it every time he says he loves you, and you can hardly even focus on the ring because your eyes are welling up with tears.

“Don’t start crying now! It’s not like you’re stuck with me for life!” He exclaims. “Yet.” He adds in, as a second thought. And when your tears won’t stop falling, he decides to say the most important thing he’s ever spoken to anyone in his life before: “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” You choke out, in between sobs. 

Later, he’ll ask you if you remember that one time you two were nine, and you made him propose to you. You tease him that the ring back then was way bigger than the one he just gave you. 

“The economy was better back then.” He tells you. 

“Must’ve really been good. That diamond was _huge_.” You reply back. 

“Don’t tell me you’re only with me because of my _money_!”

“If money was the case, I’d be with Osamu, don’t you think?”

You have to spend the rest of the night reminding Atsumu that he’s the only person you will ever want to be with. One night isn’t nearly enough to sate his ego, but as you curl up in his arms afterwards, he looks at the way your ring shines in the moonlight, and he figures he has the rest of his life to spend with you, and that’s more than enough.


End file.
